


Of Justice and Law

by Zwtfmate



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Pride and Prejudice - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwtfmate/pseuds/Zwtfmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras wanted very few things; The Freedom of France and the welfare of his friends.<br/>What he did not want and never wanted for himself was romance, or the frustrating acquaintance of one Inspector Javert.<br/>Sometimes, one does not get all he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Conversation and the Importance of Parties

**Author's Note:**

> Hooooly crap, I'm actually attempting to write a mult-chapter fic. I'm showing my shameful face here again for this shameful fic about my shameful OTP. welp.
> 
> I'd like it said that this is mostly inspired but the Keira Knightly version of the film because I'm currently in the middle of reading both P&P and Les Mis (lame, I know) and this fic will REALLY deviate from that too, so it's more loosely based than word-for-word. Thanks to Sav-Fine on tumblr for the offer of beta-ing, you rock!

It is of a probable conclusion that when a certain number of young bachelors live in the same home for a reasonable measure of time, mischief is likely to occur.

Mischief of the Romantic Sense is not an unheard of result, either.

 

~***~

“There is to be a party the night after tomorrow.” Courfeyrac announced at the breakfast table.

Enjolras hummed in response, eyes never leaving the roll of parchment by his plate of eggs. He had a speech to deliver at the next rally, and its configuring was taking far longer than he would have preferred.

“It's going to be a ball of sorts, from what I've heard.”

“Hmm.”

“We've all been invited, of course.”

“Have fun.”

Courfeyrac huffed. “Honestly, Enjolras, you have to go to a party you were invited to at least once in your life.”

“There are more important matters to attend to.”

“The battle with your speech can be postponed for one night.” Courfeyrac said, ignoring Enjolras' glare as he continued, “And besides, this may be the opportunity we could use to spread our message and bring people to the Cause.”

“Somehow,” Enjolras drawled, “I do not think that most of the participants of such an event would enjoy hearing that their lives have been a greedy overindulgence and the party they are squandering themselves on is a prime example of that.”

“Prime example of what?” A third voice asked, and Enjolras briefly glanced up to nod Good Morning to Marius, who had just stumbled in with his hair mussed and missing his vest and cravat.

“Marius, we have been invited to a social gathering,” Courfeyrac turned bodily towards Marius. “And I'm trying to convince our illustrious leader that interaction outside of the house and the rioting throngs will not in fact kill him.”

Marius frowned, looking at Enjolras. “You aren't going?”

“I was not planning to, no.”

“But you never go to parties!” Marius pouted, and it did not have the same effect on Enjolras as it did when they first met each other.

It was a very near thing, though. “I have other things I need to be doing, rather than parading around a dance hall all night.”

“You have plenty of time before and after to do those things! And we could use it to spread our message!”

“That is what I said!” Courfeyrac looked at Enjolras too, eyes big and pleading. “Please, Enjolras? Just this once, and I swear I will never breathe a word about your lack of socialization ever again.” Marius nodded in agreement behind Courfeyrac. Enjolras frowned at them both, cursing silently them and their ancestry. Who else could he blame for such natural of pitiful faces if not their predecessors? On a singular basis their childish behavior could be conquered and set aside easily, but as an enclosed unit the aptitude of their innocent sincerity spilled from the brim and poured into something deep inside Enjolras. Already he felt his resolve beginning to slip.

He sighed, setting down his pen. “I'll have to find where I buried my good vest, then.” he muttered. He did not smile when he watched his friends' faces light up with glee.

It was a very near thing, though.

~***~

The party was just as he imagined; loud, frivolous, and full of people equally loud and frivolous. Still, Enjolras concluded, it could have been far worse. At least the party-goers seem to actually be enjoying themselves and not using the occasion to broadcast where in their flawed society they stood. Everyone seemed cordial with everyone and the music was lively enough to evoke dancing even in himself.

He had only indulged the urge twice so far, once with Joly and Bosuett's dear Musichetta, whom he was profoundly fond of, and once with Courfeyrac, who was now seen moving quickly from partner to partner (“I'll dance with at least a dozen ladies tonight!” He had exclaimed when they entered the hall, “And twice as many men!”). Across at a table it could be seen that Feuilly and Bahorel were in some form of testing each others strength by the locking of their arms. Prouvaire sat beside them and was witnessing the display much like they witnessed everything; with a sense of wonder and ethereal gloom. Though Enjolras did not see him, Grantaire had, no doubt, gotten into the wine already and more than likely Joly and Bosuett were attempting to match their friend drink-by-drink (They would, ultimately, fail in this endeavor; though they had never let the score detriment them from trying). Musichetta had since ceased dancing and was talking to the Gamins Eponine and Azelma. How they had managed to sneak into an occasion like this was beyond Enjolras, and he could find nothing in him but to be impressed by the sisters.

He held a small hope that, in the midst of their merriment, his friends would recall to bring up their Campaign to as many of the people they conversed with as they could. Though he supposed, for this night, he could not fault them if it slipped their minds.

He spotted Marius, closest to him, staring off at an unknown point in the crowd. Enjolras moved towards him and commented when he was certain Marius could hear, “I suppose I can not count on you to help me rally our friends. They seem to have been lost to the sea.”

When Marius didn't respond, Enjolras glanced over to find him sill looking off in the distance. “Marius? Are you alright?”

“I have been struck.”

Enjolras frowned. “Struck, monsieur?”

“By Cupid's bow.”

Enjolras' frown deepened. “Pardon?”

“Cupid, Enjolras.” Enjolras turned to view Marius' face, flush a red almost as bright as his hair, and his eyes were alight in a manner Enjolras had never seen it before. “Eros, The god of love. I have fallen, dear friend, and I don't expect to be righted any time soon.”

Enjolras grimaced. “What are you talking about Marius?”

Marius pointed, and Enjolras looked until he saw the object of Marius' adulation; a young woman, standing with two older men at the other side of the hall. She was facing them while the men she conversed with had their backs to them, so Enjolras could make out the pretty wide face and a wider, prettier smile. “Her?”

“Her. She is everything I have ever wanted.”

Enjolras gave his friend an arched look. “Really.”

“Deeply! It feels as though the world has changed in a-a burst of light!” Marius was practically breathless in his rapture, his eyes wide and glittering as he looked on the girl. Enjolras wrinkled his nose in disgust. Leave it to Marius, whom he had begun to show a great deal of respect for, to go and fall in love at the most inconvenient of time.

“How... Poetic, Marius.” He said dully.

“I suppose she brings it out in me.”

“Hmm.”

“She is utterly perfect.”

“Do you know her name?”

Marius frowned. “No.” He finally looked at Enjolras for the first time during the conversation.“Do you think Combeferre would know anything on her?” The amount of sheer hope that was blooming out of Marius' voice made Enjolras nauseous. If only he showed such emotion over the Freedom of France!

“I could not say. Though Combeferre does seem to know everything-” That seemed enough of an answer for Marius, for he turned and began to search the crowds for their friend. Enjolras followed along, with increasing exasperation.

They found him standing near a high lamp, looking up with intrigue at the collection of moths flocking there.“Combeferre,” Marius began, without so much as a greeting, “Who is that young woman over there? The one speaking to the two older gentlemen?”

Combeferre blinked, looking first at Marius, then to whom Marius was referring, then back to Marius with a frown.“Why do you assume that I would know who she is?” he asked, then sighed slightly when Marius gazed at him as though he was the fool for asking. “As it is, I heard Eponine talk on her. Her name is Cosette Fauchelevant.” Combeferre motioned them closer and shifted so that Enjolras could see along with Marius. A lovely girl, no doubt about it; even from a distance and in the dim of the lanterns she seemed to give off light from her very being. Combeferre continued on, pointing at the man just to her left, “That is her adoptive father, Jean Valjean. He is the mayor of their town of M-Sur M-. They are visiting the city for a short term.”

“And the one with the quizzical brow?” Enjolras asked mildly.

“That is Inspector Nicu Javert. He is the Head of the town's police force and a friend of the family.”

“He looks absolutely miserable.”

“Don't be so quick to pass judgment, dear Enjolras.” a voice crooned in his ear, and suddenly Grantaire was next to Enjolras with an arm around his shoulders. “I have seen you wear the same expression at functions like these many times before.”

Enjolras shoved the arm away easily, scowling first at Grantaire and then at Combeferre who very poorly tried to conceal his grin. 

“I suppose, very much like our leader,” Combeferre said with another smile, “The Inspector has much more important issues than a party to think on.” they turned once again to the group on hand as he spoke, “He is allegedly the best in his field, putting almost every criminal he has pursued behind bars. M- Sur M- has been acclaimed to have had a significant decline in crime since he was stationed there.”

“As always, your knowledge on things that have absolutely nothing to do with you never ceases to amaze me.” Grantaire commented, and the corners of Enjolras' mouth tugged upwards when Combeferre shot them a withering look. He glanced over at Marius, who had been lost to the conversation as soon as the young woman was no longer mentioned, and suggested easily;

“Perhaps you should go and introduce yourself.”

Marius blinked owlishly, pulling back from the drift he was floating on and looked to his friends, as though just recalling they were next to him. “You think I ought to?” He asked, flush at the mere mention and Enjolras fought a flow of begrudging affection.

“Certainly. Lord knows you won't give us a moments peace until you speak to her.”

Marius could only nod, unable to deny the statement. Still, he hesitated. “Will you go with me?” he asked Enjolras. “You tend to have a way of starting a conversation with others.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless. Marius hurriedly took his arm in gratitude and they began to push their way through the throngs as fast as Marius could drag him along.

~***~  
As it happened, Enjolras was not needed to a great extent.

As soon as they made their introductions, Marius had stammered into immediate inquiries on how they were enjoying the city, and if they had been to Such-a-Place or seen Some-Garden-or-Other. If they were taken aback by his forward demeanor, they didn't show it; Monsieur Valjean answered calmly and with a smile, and Cosette was very obviously drawn to Marius as Marius was to her. The only one who looked inconvenienced was the Inspector, who frowned deeply at their arrival and had not said a word since. Enjolras decided to ignore the slight and kept up with the conversation easily enough. After a while the music coming from the center of the hall began to swell in anticipation of the next dance and Marius shyly looked to Cosette.

“Would you like to dance? That is-” He added, casting a hasty and nervous glance at Valjean, “If your father doesn't mind-”

“Not at all.” Valjean replied mildly. He smiled, kindly enough and only a touch tight around the corners. “If Cosette would like to, it's perfectly fine with me.”

Cosette gave her father a fond look, placing a hand briefly on his arm before turning back to Marius and taking his hand. “I would love to dance.” She said and led him swiftly to the dance-floor. Marius had only a moment to glance back at Enjolras helplessly and Enjolras felt like laughing at his friend's flustered face.

Enjolras realized, quite suddenly, that he was still technically in the company of the two gentlemen. With Valjean watching Marius and Cosette with the stern vigilance of a proper parental figure, he had little other choices and thought to ask the man next to him, “Do you dance, Inspector?”

“Not if I can help it.” Javert's voice was deep and sharp, and he answered so abruptly that Enjolras was at a loss of what to say next. A silence settled over them, tense and growing more and more uncomfortable by the moment, and Enjolras felt now would be best to take his leave. He did not say anything, for he suspected he would get none in return, merely nodded and walked away from the Inspector as quickly and politely as he could.

 

~***~

He found Feuilly before anyone else, sitting at a table in a far corner, and Enjolras flocked to him immediately. Feuilly smiled when he approached and pushed the chair next to him out to motion Enjolras to sit. They remained at the table for a long time, casually discussing the rally scheduled for later in the week and watching as their companions weaved their way through the social circles in what Enjolras still hoped was an attempt on their parts to bring awareness to the Cause.

He spotted Marius, on his third dance with Mademoiselle Cosette, and he sighed, resignation settling inside him. So much for the Cause, he thought, and commented with an air of fatigue, “If those two do not end up engaged by the end of the night, then I am no judge of romance.”

“Or of Marius,” Feuilly replied and Enjolras could not help the laugh that bubbled out.

“That is true. And in all sincerity if the response to love is to become as silly as Marius I say we are all better off without it.”

“Come now!”

“Truly! If strong affection of that kind- outside of friend and country, of course-”

“Oh, of course-”

“-Causes a man to act like a dull-minded, twitter-patted fool, then I will be grateful to stay a bachelor all my life.” Enjolras sat back in his chair, nodding with satisfaction to himself. “There are greater things to strive towards than something as fickle as courting.”

Feuilly smiled and shook his head fondly. “One of these days someone 'outside of friend and country' may catch your eye and then you will have to watch your tongue.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but caught sight of Messieurs Valjean and Javert walking in their direction, their heads bowed toward each other. Enjolras motioned to them and half-whispered, “Those are Cosette's chaperones.”when they stopped to stand with their backs to Enjolras and Feuilly and face the couples dancing. They were close enough to be heard if one was so inclined, and the two boys unconsciously leaned forward to listen to the conversation.

“-seems quite smitten with him. I've barely seen Cosette all night.” Valjean was saying. 

“You would do well to keep better watch on her, especially involving the intentions of other company.” Javert replied stiffly.

“Do you really believe that Monsieur Pontmercy could attempt any ill on Cosette?” There was evident doubt in Valjean's voice that was not entirely misplaced. 

“I believe men are capable of any sort of deplorable behavior where desire is involved.”

“He looked utterly terrified to place his hand on her waist.” Feuilly barely choked back laughter at Valjean's words. “And she had to take the lead of the dance halfway through because he kept almost tripping her.”

Javert was quiet a moment before responding, with conviction, “It could be a clever rouse. He could be playing a part very well, waiting for a moment to take his advantage.” Feuilly really did laugh at that, and Enjolras worried for a moment that the men would know of their eavesdropping. But they had taken no notice of the noise and Javert continued, “I can not say I could trust him, or any other man in this room. People of this age can be guaranteed to have only radical ideas and improper urges.”

“They cannot all be that bad!” Valjean exclaimed, the humor in his voice subtle but clear. “What about Marius' friend, Monsieur Enjolras? He seems like an agreeable young man, and pleasant to talk with.”

Javert scoffed. “Barely tolerable, and not nearly enough to charm me. And agreeable or not, I am in no humor at the present to tolerate the prattling of children.” 

Enjolras heard a rushing in his ears and felt an unhappy flush rises up his throat and cheeks. The words clanged in his head gracelessly, producing a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and anger inside him so violent that he had to drop his eyes to his hands and hold them there with deep concentration. He didn't register that Valjean and Javert had moved on, so focused on keeping his temper from bubbling out and causing a scene. Feuilly must have noticed this, for he reached over, clasping a hand on Enjolras' shoulder, and said, “Count your blessings, Enjolras. If he liked you, you would have to talk to him.”

Enjolras did his best to smile, though it did not meet his eyes. “Precisely.” he replied, an octave too bright, and continued in the same vein, “As it is, the only way I would be forced into his company is if they put me kicking and screaming in a prison cell.” Feuilly laughed, and they spoke of it no more, though it took another half-hour before Enjolras' hands unclenched themselves from the fists they were in. 

~***~

The night, in Enjolras' opinion, was taking far to long to come to an end.

After the embarrassment of the Inspector's comment, it had been hard for him to get back into the stride of the evening's events. Perhaps it should not have bothered him as much as it did,the opinion of an almost-complete stranger, but perhaps that's exactly why it did; the man knew nothing of Enjolras, but the short exchange they had, and had come to such a quick and negative assumption without any real experiences to support it. How could Enjolras fight such blind ignorance? He could not redo a first impression, and even if he could, there was no doubt in his mind that Javert would not have changed his own behavior to improve upon Enjolras'. If that is the manner the Inspector treats new people, then Enjolras was better off without. Though the knowledge was good and fine in retrospect it did not comfort him at the present, and Enjolras could not fully shake away the frustration; It pricked at the back of his mind. If before he was tolerably neutral, now he was downright unapproachable. 

Courfeyrac came to him where he stood against a wall, nursing a mostly untouched glass of wine, and stood before him with his arms crossed. “And what is the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“By my shiny boots, 'nothing'. I can feel your dour mood across the hall.” Courfeyrac frowned in a manner to convey being put-out. “It's very difficult to enjoy oneself knowing they're friends are unhappy, you know.” There was genuine concern, though, under Courfeyrac's little show, and it made guilt chew at Enjolras' insides.

Enjolras sighed, frowning into his drink. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Courfeyrac looked as though he wanted to push, but thankfully, decided against it. “Well, if you're not going to talk about it,” he said instead, slipping his hand against the crook of Enjolras' elbow and easing him away from his perch, “At least come talk with the rest of us about something else. A few of us are currently entertaining Marius' new friend.” Courfeyrac smirked as he lead them about the web of people.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “ 'entertaining'?...”

“Nothing too harmful, I assure you.” Courfeyrac replied, but there was still a manner of mischievous joy in his tone that didn't convince Enjolras in the slightest.

They arrived at the small collection consisting of Marius, Cosette, and Grantaire. The latter was on one side of Marius, relaying some witty story that had Cosette smiling divinely and Marius looking like a poor child being subjected to their parent's loving mockery.

“To be sure, mademoiselle,” Grantaire was saying, squeezing Marius around the waist as Marius blushed. “Our sweet Marius here seems to take to dancing with you like a fish takes to swimming in mud.” He flashed a grin at the face of Cosette's confusion as he explained, “With fervor, but accompanied with a great deal of gasping and flailing.” 

They laughed as Marius' face, if possible, grew redder. Enjolras did not laugh, and he felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. Even if he did not understand or condone the silliness Marius was pursuing, he was too attached to the little fool to ever see any misfortune come to him, or in present context, have his person made less than satisfactory in the eyes of Cosette. Enjolras placed a hand on Grantaire's arm in warning, and said decidedly, “Which is evidence enough to how truly dedicated Marius is, to continue to participate in an activity that his nature is not inclined towards.” Marius gave him a small, grateful smile, and Enjolras smiled back, prompted to continue. “And I think that it's astounding that you both can dance for hours on end. I couldn't fathom being so comfortable with someone so quick to already engage in such a physical activity.”

“You do not like dancing.”

Enjolras frowned, turning to address Inspector Javert, who had arrived unannounced and stood next to Cosette, subtly putting himself between her and the rest of them. “I did not say that. I simply think that it is an interaction that would be better enjoyed between two who have been more thoroughly acquainted.” 

The Inspector's expression did not change. Enjolras wondered if perhaps his face was permanently set in a state of cool neutrality, with the only impulses the muscles allowed were blinking and offensive speech. Javert then asked, bringing Enjolras back from his musing, “How would you then suggest two people with little knowledge of the other become better acquainted?” 

Enjolras blinked, very slowly, and a small vindictive smile crept onto his face. “Conversation, I believe, could bring individuals together. Though I understand the aversion to the idea, especially when one cannot tolerate the prattling of children.”

And there it was, the break in the armor that was the Inspector; his brows furrowed slightly, and his mouth twitched downward in a brief but distinct look of pure bewilderment. Enjolras smile grew, and he must have looked uncharacteristically gleeful, for in the peripherals of his vision he saw his friends gaping at him. Well, let them gape, he thought, and gave one last bow in the Inspector's direction before turning and leaving the group entirely. He did not stop to look and see if any eyes followed him on his way to the door, deciding then that, with Marius and his companions and the exchanges with the Inspector, Enjolras had had quite enough socializing for the evening.

~***~

 

“I have visited Paradise, my friends, and I am one with the Gods.” Marius said later back in their shared sitting room, eyes dreamy and head placed gently in Jehan's lap. Enjolras sat at the small table, making up the time to work on his speech. 

“Indeed?” Jehan chuckled, quiet but bright. “And what is Heaven like?”

“It is a fair face and a lovely smile. A sweet voice like a lark and just as swift on her feet.” 

“Such words! You'll be putting Prouvaire to shame if you continue like this!” Grantaire laughed, and Jehan pushed him off his chair with the tip of his foot. They were all still working off the good spirits and the good wine and would most likely be on the other side of such merriment tomorrow. Enjolras did not worry about it now, but watched as Grantaire slipped to the ground with small smile playing on his lips. 

Grantaire noticed and grinned back. “And now look! The Man of Marble has a crack! This must have been quite the social event.”

“You would remember it better if you had not drank half of their supplies!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, standing over Grantaire with his hands on his hips. Grantaire took no time in striking the back of his knees and having Courfeyrac fall across Grantaire's stomach. They wrestled a bit, knocking into the furniture and laughing at the bruises that wouldn't start hurting till the morning while their friends cheered them on. After a time Courfeyrac came back to himself, however, and stopped aptly to explain. “He is simply amused by his clever slight at one of the chaperones to Marius' dear Lark.”

“The Inspector?” Marius' head lifted from Jehan's lap to look at Enjolras. “I still cannot believe what he said about you.”

Enjolras thought back on the harsh words uttered about his person and the crease of confusion that had graced Inspector Javert's face. He hummed. “Yes, well. I could have easily forgiven his vanity if he had not wounded mine.” He waved his hand, dismissive. “Anyway, it doesn't matter. I doubt we will ever speak again.”

They as a collective accepted this statement and went back to their own affairs while Enjolras once again bowed his head over his parchment. While still finding it difficult to accumulate the proper words, he was enough at ease to be unconcerned by the lack of his fervency. All good things in their time, he thought, rather unlike himself. He continued at an unhurried pace and listened to the laughter that rang throughout the room and dwindled well into the night.


	2. Like Divisions on a Page

There was a letter for Marius a few days later. It was hand-delivered, and Marius had barely closed the door before they all crowded him to see the parchment in his hands.

“What does it say?” Bahorel asked, craning around Combeferre and Bossuet to see.

Marius opened the envelope quickly and read in silence. “I have been invited to dine with Cosette's father, Monsieur Valjean.” He said after a moment. His face fell a little. “Cosette will be dining out.”

“Dining out?” They chorused together. Courfeyrac snatched at the letter, reading through with a furrowed brow. 

“They are staying on the other side of the city. I should most likely see to a cab.” Marius said quietly, and Enjolras understood the resignation in his voice. They barely collected enough to afford the house they occupied or the food they ate. A cab was an expensive luxury.

Courfeyrac looked thoughtful for a long moment before folding the letter and handing it back to Marius. “I don't know. I think a walk would do you very well, Marius.”

“Across the city?” Enjolras said dubiously. He knew the look in Courfeyrac's eyes; it was a look that had done them well in the Campaign, usually preceding a clever thought or an otherwise unseen course of action. In the current setting, however, it could only be perceived as mischievous. “That would take a quarter of the day.”

“Then perhaps he should start at once.” Courfeyrac grinned, and slapped an uncertain Marius on the back. “Do not look so dour, dear friend- after all, it is such a lovely day. I'm sure you won't even notice the travel.” 

Enjolras squinted at Courfeyrac, who was smiling cordially back, and glanced out into the street as if to see what ominous hazards Marius would have to journey through that Courfeyrac seemed so eager about. But nothing was amiss; the streets looked practically docile, and the sun was shining in the sky.

Perhaps I am mistaken, Enjolras mused, and waved Marius off as he moved out the door.

 

~***~

The downpour was quick to come and slow to leave.

Courfeyrac stood by the window, watching the large drops splatter and slide down the glass pane. “I do hope Marius got there safely.” He remarked lightly. “I would hate to think he got caught up in the middle of the storm.”

“I would accuse of you of witchcraft, my friend.” Grantaire said from behind, resting his chin on Courfeyrac's shoulder to gaze out as well. “Though I do not think you competent enough to make the rain fall. Your skills at matchmaking, however, are practically occult.” 

Courfeyrac beamed, reaching back to stroke Grantaire's head and looking for all intensive purposes like a particularly smug cat with a clever plan for a caged bird. 

Enjolras glared at them both. “You'll both be laughing when Marius catches cold and dies.”

“You do not die from a cold, Enjolras. Don't be such a Jolllly.” Courfeyrac said, shrilling the name to make Grantaire laugh. Joly made a noise of protest in the other room. Enjolras glowered even more.

~***~

“Do not worry too much about me,” Marius' letter read. It arrived the next morning when Marius had not, and Enjolras read it over with a generous amount of concern and anger building inside him. “For aside from a fever, cough, and sore throat, there is not much wrong with me.” He looked up to level a glare at Courfeyrac, who at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Well, I certainly hope you are happy. This is ridiculous!”

“That's a bit dramatic, Enjolras. After all, he's in very good hands-” Courfeyrac cut himself off as the other boy's stare intensified. “It says he'll be staying there at the insistence of the hosts! Surely that can't be any worse than if he was here. Actually, it may be better. I heard Jehan say they had been working on some sort of brew that could cure any illness, and I wouldn't feel safe offering poor Marius up as the guinea pig.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes in aggravation at the nonchalance his friend was showing. He looked down at the letter for a moment, made his decision, and rose abruptly. “I will go for him.” He announced, and without another word went to the door, grabbing his boots on the way out.

~***~

The walk to the house was long, but easy enough, and Enjolras was not bothered by the distance. He had walked farther and longer before on his own time, when he needed to clean his mind out or when he was feeling particularly anxious. Walking was cathartic to Enjolras, and he enjoyed it.

It took him two turns about the street, but eventually found the house that matched the address in Marius' letter. It was a modest building, hidden past a tall gate and a lovely garden he had to maneuver through to reach the door. The Portress met him there and showed him into a dining room, where Messieurs Valjean and Javert and Mademoiselle Cosette were sitting for breakfast. They looked up at him when he entered, and their gazes made Enjolras suddenly aware of the mud still on his boots from the soil of the garden, the sweat that was probably evident on his face and in his hair, and that in his haste to begin his journey, he had forgotten his cravat. He must have looked like an utter mess.

But before he could say anything to them, or they to him, Inspector Javert abruptly rose from his seat and stood as if at attention or in waiting. Enjolras frowned, waiting for the Inspector to speak, and when he did not, the boy looked to the two still seated in hopes of finding some sort of explanation for the behavior being exhibited. Cosette was gazing up at Javert as well, with an expression of confusion that matched Enjolras' own. Valjean, for his part, had a hand over his mouth as though hiding a smile. Javert looked only at Enjolras.

Finally, after a brief, deafening moment, Monsieur Valjean broke the silence. “Good morning, monsieur. You arrived sooner than we had expected. Did you come as soon as you received Marius' note?”

“I did.” Enjolras answered. He resisted the instinct to shift from one foot to the other. A hundred eyes upon him as he poured out his soul over France he could stand, encouraged even. To be the target of these three solitary gazes on him, however, made him increasingly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, How is Marius?”

“He's upstairs.” Javert said, the first words he spoke since Enjolras had arrived.

Enjolras glanced at him, and was reaffirmed in the suspicion that the Inspector had not looked away from his person once since his entering the dining room. He turned his eyes away, unsettled. “Thank you.” He muttered, then bowed his head and saw himself out to the stairwell. He wondered distantly if the Inspector watched him as he went. He did not look back to check.

~***~

He found Marius in the second room he entered, laying in a small bed and wrapped tightly within multiple blankets. Marius had barely enough strength to lift his head at Enjolras' arrival, but gave his friend a watery smile nonetheless. “You came.”

“I came.” Enjolras said, crossing over and sitting on the edge of the bed. “And if the others had had their wits about them, and were properly dressed in the moment, they would have come along with me.”

“Would they?”

“You doubt them?”

“No. it's just,” Marius paused to clear his nose, then continued, “I've never had someone come to my side so fervently before.”

Enjolras' heart ached at the admission. He decided it best to change the subject, “How do you feel?”

“Better, I think.” Marius answered. He did not pull away when Enjolras placed a hand upon his forehead, though he made a soft noise of embarrassment. “The doctor said my fever would break soon, and I will be able to return home by nightfall.”

“Do not strain yourself unnecessarily.” Enjolras said sternly. “We cannot force ourselves to get better before our time.”

Marius laughed. “This coming from the man who attempted to give a speech in the throws of pneumonia.”

“That was different.” Enjolras muttered, and Marius laughed again, though weaker than before, and Enjolras chided, “You should rest.”

Marius sighed, dropping his head against his pillow and closing his eyes. “I feel like such an inconvenience. They're so kind, Cosette and her father. Valjean himself insisted that I stay, and Cosette has very rarely left my side, getting me anything I should need.” He sighed again. “She must think me such a fool.”

Enjolras tutted. “Nonsense. I do not know who is happier at you being here; Cosette or Courfeyrac.” he grinned when Marius opened an eye to give him an amused look. “All the same, you must rest. I will stay with you until you are better.”

Marius frowned, and made to sit upright. “You should not- that is, I do not want to bother you- you most likely have more important things to do-” he interrupted himself with a violent fit of coughs, and Enjolras smoothed a hand down his back until the tremors subsided. When Marius spoke again, it was weaker, and not just in a physical sense. “I do not want to be a burden.”

The ache returned to Enjolras, and he reassured softly, “You are no burden. The revolution will go no further than our doorstep if we do not have all our fighters with us.” The surprise and warmth that graced Marius face was satisfaction enough to Enjolras for any time spent at his friend's side and not on what Marius called, “More Important Things.” They spoke idly after that, about one thing or another, and were half-way through an age-old debate on Napoleon's Rule when Marius began to fade into slumber. Enjolras rearranged the blankets, made sure there was a glass of water near Marius should he wake, and very quietly went to the door, leaving Marius to sleep.

~***~

“You write so quickly Uncle!” Cosette exclaimed,leaning over to look at the parchment Inspector Javert was writing on. After Enjolras re-joined them, they had all retreated to a small living room. It consisted of a wall of shelved books, two couches, and a writing desk. Valjean had taken one of the couches while Enjolras had seated himself with a book on the other, closest to the door in case he felt the need to check on Marius again. The remaining two were at the desk, Javert sitting with his letter and Cosette standing behind his chair.

“On the Contrary,” Javert responded, “I write rather slowly.”

“I suppose you would have to write fast,” Cosette said blythly, “What with all the important matters you must address.” She turned her head toward Enjolras and explained, “Uncle Javert is under the patronage of the Secretary to The Prefect of Paris' Police Force. As such he keeps all documentations of any sort of mishaps in M-Sur-M-, and if he seems weary of a situation he alerts Monsieur Chabouillant and-”

“-I'm sure the Monsieur would not want to hear about a matter that does not concern him.” Javert interrupted pointedly, glancing first at Cosette, then briefly at Enjolras. He turned back to his letter without another word. Cosette frowned, flushed with embarrassment, and Enjolras had every inclination to tell the Inspector exactly what he thought on matters that do not concern him. Monsieur Valjean, however, seemed to have noticed as well and spoke before Enjolras had the chance.

“It is fascinating to me,” he commented, “How often you are found writing letters and reading, when you find no joy in either activity.”

Enjolras looked to Valjean, confused by the return to the previous conversation. But he went along and to Javert asked, “You don't like to read?”

Javert frowned in his direction, but stiffly replied after a moment. “It is not one of my passions, no.”

“Then what would be? One of your passions, I mean.”

“The law.” He answered firmly. “And upholding right and wrong.”

“He enjoys mathematics as well.” Valjean chimed, and smiled at the glare Javert shot him.

Enjolras raised a brow. It seemed evident now that a Valjean was baiting both Javert to embarrasement, and Enjolras to inciting the emotion. Enjolras decided to take it:“You are a man of numbers, Inspector?”

Javert shifted in his seat, his eyes on the table. “Of a sort.” He muttered. He fiddled with the stack of paper in front of him, running his thumb over the sheets and letting them fall with more concentration than necessary. “Math has structure and order. You follow procedures, the rules are clear, and there is always a right and wrong answer.”

Enjolras watched the Inspector's obvious agitation with interest. “But, depending on the equation, the answer to the problem may vary.”

“Not when one follows instruction.”

“Always following instruction can hinder innovation, and the possibility of progress-”

“Progress, when explicitly needed,” Javert interrupted, “Can be found logically and within regimen. That is the spine of mathematics, and of ideal human behavior.”

Enjolras set his book aside, which he had not been reading anyways, and turned bodily toward Javert. “So you see people as equations?”

Javert scowled. “That is not what I said-”

“But that is what you imply. If you view the very nature of man as you do the additions and divisions on a page, you reduce humans to simple problems, comprised not of emotions and complexities, but of variables, a collection of numbers that need to be solved.” Enjolras was leaning forward in his seat without realizing it, his eyes on the Inspector in a manner both inquisitive and accusatory. “I wonder, then, what sort of algorithm you would have in determining another human's soul, and if there can only be a right or a wrong to a person-”

“Monsieur Enjolras,” Cosette said, bright and clear as she stepped into his line of sight, “Let us take a turn about the room.” She smiled, but it was evident that she was attempting to intervene on the conversation, which had turned the atmosphere of the room very tense. Enjolras blinked up at her, embarrassed to realize he all but forgotten that there was anyone there aside from himself and the Inspector. He stood, awkwardly offering his arm, which Cosette took with a look of delight.

They begun around the room in a slow, comfortable gait, as though they had been friends life-long and had walked together often. Cosette sighed happily and placed both hands in the crook of Enjolras' elbow.“It's refreshing, is it not, after sitting so long in one attitude.”

“It is its own sort of accomplishment, I suppose.” Enjolras replied.

“I love to take walks.” Cosette continued, “Father and I always take a walk in the afternoons, through our town's local park or to the market. It is the best way, I think, to take a step back from whatever worries the day may have held, and to marvel on the blessings God has given us.”

Enjolras gave Cosette a fond look, finding that his affections for the girl was growing readily. He began to understood, to a degree, what Marius saw in her. “I could not agree more.” He said.

“Won't you join us, Father?” Cosette asked Valjean, and when he declined she called to Javert, “What about you, Uncle? Surely your legs would not protest to a little circulation.”

Javert did not give her a glance as he replied, “You could only have two motives for your proposal, Cosette, and I would get in the way of either.”

“What could he mean?” Cosette lightly asked Enjolras.

“We would disappoint to ask nothing about it.” Enjolras muttered back, relishing just a little when he spotted Javert's lips thinning in irritation at the comment.

“Well then Uncle, do explain please.” 

“Exactly what I said; You must have some ulterior reason, for not even you could have enough generosity in your heart to give any concern to my legs and their 'circulation'. Either you have a subject you would like to privately discuss with both I and Monsieur Enjolras, which I could not venture a guess as to what that could possibly be. Or you would like to parade your youthfulness by comparing my slower movements to your own. If this is the case, I dare say it a waste of all of our time; no one need be reminded that you are spry and full of life.”

“How shocking, Uncle!” Cosette laughed, and the sound was infectious to the point that Enjolras could not hold back a smile. “Thinking so little of us. How shall we punish him, Monsieur Enjolras?”

Enjolras looked at Javert, who was no longer writing but staring at his letter, hands clenched tight enough on the table to chalk his knuckles white. “We could always laugh at him.” Enjolras offered.

“Oh no!” Cosette warned. “Uncle Javert is not to be teased.” She let go of Enjolras' arm and headed to the couch to sit with her father, but Enjolras remained standing.

“Are you too proud, Monsieur?” He asked, then stepped closer when Javert looked up. “And would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?”

“I could not say.” Javert bit out, keeping eye contact. He sounded on the edge of frustration, and Enjolras wanted to press his advantage.

“Because we're doing our best to find a fault in you-”

“Maybe it's that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me.” It came out in a heated rush, more a growl than actual speech, and Enjolras could only find a moment of victory before Javert continued, “My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.”

They stared at each other then, a moment longer than the end of a conversation would deem necessary. Javert was collecting himself, his dark face smoothing back into a cold indifference and Enjolras noted then that his eyes were very blue.

He did not know where the smile came from, but Enjolras let it settle on his features. “I'm afraid I cannot tease you about that.” Enjolras rapped his knuckles on the table lightly. “Rather unfortunate. I have not had a good laugh in quite some time.”

“Perhaps Father should tell one of his stories!” Cosette said, either unaware on the remnants of tension between the two men or actively ignoring it, Enjolras could not guess. “He always tells such wonderful tales.” She smiled at Enjolras, whose mouth quirked in a polite show of amiability. He stepped away from the table to sit on the opposite couch, pointedly ignoring Javert as Valjean began a tale about a time when he was a young man and he had caught one of his sister's sons sneaking pastries from one of their neighbor's kitchens.

~***~

By the evening, Marius' fever had broken. Even so, Monsieur Valjean insisted that they stay over the night, and then in the morning pressed to pay for a carriage to take them back home. While Enjolras gave the proper amount of protest, he was ultimately grateful; Marius was still very weak and would most like not make the trek back on foot.

Enjolras helped Marius out of the house and through the garden. They reached the cab, where Cosette was waiting with her father on one side and the Inspector stood on the other. Pausing before entering the cabin, Marius shook first Monsieur Valjean's hand, then held Cosette's for a brief moment. “I do not know how to thank you enough for your wonderful care these past few days.”

Cosette smiled, with only a slight blush on her face to match Marius' when she squeezed his hand. “There's no need for thanks. You are welcome any time you feel the least bit folly.”

The look of pure rapture on Marius' face was not enough to cause Enjolras to begrudge him, but enough to hurry his friend into the carriage before Marius did something even sillier, like giggle. Once Marius was settled, Enjolras stepped back out to bow at Cosette. “Thank you for the stimulating company, it was most informative.”

Cosette curtsied politely, and took his hand briefly as well. “Not at all. The pleasure was all mine.”

Enjolras paused and reluctantly bowed his head to Javert. “Inspector.”

Javert stared, then tilted his head very slightly in recognition. It made Enjolras want to scoff, but he withheld and turned to Valjean to give his farewell before stepping up to the carriage. 

His footing was not as sure as he had thought, however, and Enjolras slipped suddenly off the step, toppling him swiftly backwards. He would have fallen fully if not for the pair of large, broad hands that caught him around the waist and by one wrist, and held him steady as Enjolras gathered himself. Relief and sheepish gratitude came over Enjolras, and he turned to thank Valjean for catching him so quickly.

But the eyes he met were not Valjean's, and Javert held his gaze as he helped Enjolras right again, only dropping his hands from the younger man's body when Enjolras was standing safely on the carriage. The Inspector turned without a word then, and walked stiffly back to the house.

Enjolras watched the retreat with uncertain wonder. He waited, frozen in place, until Javert had passed through and closed the door before seating himself opposite Marius in the carriage. Marius looked ready to ask about what had happened, but either a rare glimpse of better judgment or from fatigue he held his questions. Enjolras was grateful for this: He himself did not have an answer for the previous moments. He allowed himself the ride back to his home to think on them, and whatever reasons there may or may not have been behind them. 

Enjolras was still unsure when they reached the communal home of the Amis l'ABC, and though he said nothing to Marius, or anyone else, Enjolras could still register the imprint of the Inspector's hands on him, and the ghost of his gaze weighed heavy on Enjolras' mind for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if anyone is even interested with this, but I guess I can this far. Reviews and criticisms always welcome!


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